It would appear that today was "totally piss Britty off day" as people, for some reason appeared to be doing just that. Went out early this morning to get some new cushions for the couch (two hyperactive boxers can kill a couch in seconds), and every mile I drove people were pulling in front of me, cutting me off, taking over parking spaces and just generally making my blood pressure rise. This evening when I went grocery shopping same thing, people being impatient, passing me in no passing zones, trying to drive through parking spots while I was trying to park in them....is it just me or was the world trying to piss me off today?

Look I really don't want to know about ED okay?

Really, that is more information than I need. And why do we have to see photos of two people in bathtubs on the beach, which just begs so many questions it is not funny a) how did they get the bathtubs on the beach? b) why? c) where did the water come from cause the bathtubs are obviously not hooked up to plumbing, d) why? e)what kind of strange person would spend an inordinate amount of time hauling large amounts of hot water (one would assume it was hot, because you know if it was cold then it would have the reverse effect of what the ad was trying to promote) into a bathtub on the beach f) which insane ad exec came up with the idea that two people sitting in bathtubs on the beach is somehow romantic or indicates that the people in the bathtubs are going to be having sex at some point in the near future.... now if they were in the same bathtub then perhaps, but in separate bathtubs? Please would someone explain this to me cause I am at a loss.

Ditto and double ditto constipation medication. I really don't need to see someone leaving the bathroom with a self satisfied smile on their face.... I mean think about it people, what are these ads trying to tell you? Actress dressed in a bathrobe leaves the bathroom with a self satisfied smile on her face after just enjoying a really good..... okay you fill in the blanks cause I am not even going to go there.

Oh and triple ditto the Botox ads where the stupid women are holding up signs.... I mean come on, who is willing to have themselves injected with Botulism in order to have a face that looks like you have been quick frozen for storage.... save the money on the Botox and spend it on a good therapist cause you obviously have self esteem issues that seriously need to be addressed. Perhaps, you know this is just a thought, you might want to let your personality sell yourself, oh wait you probably don't have one, but then let your intelligence be your guide, no wait you obviously don't have any, wait there's always you excellence at your job, but, hmm, no never mind, if your entire psyche is based upon the way you look then you probably spend the majority of your work day in the ladies room primping your hair and slapping on the makeup so you never actually produce or achieve anything. Maybe botulism is the best thing for you, not the injections but the disease.

One has to admit that perhaps, just maybe, that you know it may be the case, that one has a slight OCD problem about plants and flowers when one is willing telephone every plant nursery in the phone book to inquire and then to drive 60 miles round trip to a Nursery waaaaaay out of town to buy Butterfly weed for the SOLE purpose of it being eaten to nubs by monarch caterpillars. Hope my husband doesn't find out about this....

With an eye on the weather forecast my husband and I did the yard work today, he mowing the lawn, me weedeating. He is not allowed to weedeat anymore, having slayed more of my daffodil foliage than I care to remember, my husband and a weedeater could decimate any small country, without the aid of military intervention, needless to say my husband is no longer allowed to weedeat. So after it had all been done and the front garden looked just picture perfect (don't ask me about the back, the back is not for public consumption, the back is the reason I got certified as a National Wildlife Habitat, therefore the back is shall we say "wild") in any event just after we had got done we had a light rain, and a mild thunderstorm. While it was a mild thunderstorm to say the least it wasn't mild enough for Lucky who was attempting to do the "climb under the armpit" thing while I was trying to eat my dinner. In any event after the rainstorm I wandered out into the garden with my camera knowing that there would be some really cool shots to be had..... while I was down on my damp knees taking this shot.....



Patches, one of my cats decided in her infinite wisdom that NOW, and I mean RIGHT NOW, was the time that she wanted attention, and a scritch and a cuddle. While in normal circumstances she will run from me like the devil himself is after her if I approach to give her a scritch, at this precise moment in time she decided that, yes, it was cuddle time. So after she had bitten my ankles for a while, gnawed on my toes, and eaten some of my hair, she decided in her wisdom that the only place to slonk was on my back, while I was kneeling down on the ground attempting to take shots of my rose. So there was I, camera in hand, kneeling down, attempting to take shots of the rose with Patches casually lounged on my back, eating my hair, and biting my neck. I knew that most folks would not believe this story, so in an attempt to back myself up I noticed that our reflection was in the living room window, so I snapped the shot. Cats are something else are they not? One of these days someone is going to figure them out and will no doubt make an absolute fortune but until that time us bemused owners (sorry I meant "staff") will just have to put up with their bizarre behavior.


PS) that is Cueball in the window trying to figure out how to smash out the windows to get to Mom in the front garden... animals. :D

When I got up and wandered out onto the patio this morning I noticed that the pond was alive with activity. The naiads, almost en masse, had decided that today was the day to hatch. They had crawled from the pond and attached themselves to anything upright and were busily emerging from their exoskeltons as wet and scrunched dragonflies. I quickly ran into the house and got my camera, this was an opportunity that I had been waiting for for a long time. I took a lot of shots, but mostly I just watched, fascinated to see how the dragonfly would emerge from the tiny naiad, and then sit in the sun, engorge its wings with blood. Unfortunately the little guy you see there on the right, just hatching, was born with a deformed wing, which of course means that he cannot fly, and, as dragonflies hunt on the wing, means he will probably starve. In the midst of all the joy of watching them hatch this saddened my heart, but who am I to question? Mother nature knows what she is doing. I counted 15 that hatched today and only one had a problem, so in the scheme of things there is no loss, but my heart went out to the poor little deformed dragonfly. The remainder of the 15 flew off into the garden by mid morning, their wings having been dried by the sun, to go and find their first meal as adults, the deformed one just sat on a sunflower leaf and obviously tried to figure out why that last wing would not work. I shall no doubt find him dead tomorrow or the next day, but at least there are 14 more dragonflies out there thanks to my pond. One little guy tried to fly too soon and ended up in the pond, I rescued him of course, and let him sit and dry out on my finger, after his wings had dried he was quite reluctant to get off my finger onto a nearby stick, hopefully he will stick around and will remember my kindness. All in all it was a good day.

When I arrived in the US I desperately wanted a dog, I am a dog person you know, I feel that a house without a dog in it is just not a home. Initially my husband adopted a dog from his local mechanic who had found a pup at his shop, she was a brindle something, and she lived two days, falling victim to the parvo that she had when we found her. In my desolation at losing her my husband called the local animal rescue society and asked them if they had any boxers (I am a boxer person, was raised with them), they told him that they had some boxer cross puppies and we would be welcome to go and see them. We went to the home of the foster mom and looked at the litter, there was one puppy, a tiny black and white ball of fire who was worrying the life out of a stuffed toy, she was the one, I knew it the moment I saw her and we took her home that night, tucked inside the denim jacket that I was wearing that night. Slowly she was introduced to the cats that we already owned and she adapted and we had a happy family of one dog and three cats. She was named Sox, after the wolf two-sox in "Dances with Wolves" and she was the most precious dog that one could ever hope to share ones life with. We lived next door to neighbor's who, in their whim, would adopt dogs on a regular basis and promptly ignore them, such was Buddy, a English Springer Spaniel mix who was found, if the neighbor's are to be believed was found in a parking lot. One particular week the neighbor's went on vacation, or a trip, or something and left Buddy alone. As was my want I would talk to Buddy over the fence and make sure that he was okay. On one particular day I reached over the fence to scritch his ears and felt a mass of ticks on his ears.., masses and masses of them. I went back into the house and spoke to my husband and told him the problem, at which point my husband went outside, jumped the fence and came back with Buddy in his arms. We took a flea and tick killer spray and sprayed it on cotton buds and attempted to remove all of the ticks from Buddy. The next day we took him to the vets and got him chekced out. As Buddy sat on the table the ticks, gorged with blood, would fall from his body. The vet treated him, got rid of all the ticks, gave him all of his shots and sent him home with us. On the Monday when the neighbor's returned my husband told the neighbors, "Buddy was really sick so we took him to the vets, if you want him back you can pay the bill" As it turned out they never paid the bill (what a surprise) and Buddy stayed with us. Sox and Buddy became firm friends, not only because they lived together, but because they had been "friends through the fence" for so long. They were the most glorious and joyous dogs than any owner could ever hope to have. Buddy's favorite thing in the whole world was to "chase the squeaky thingy" and Sox's favorite thing in the whole world was to interfer with Buddy chasing the "squeaky thingy" One would throw the "squeaky thingy" for buddy and Sox would do everything in her power to interfer with Buddy retireiving it. It was such a game, that was enjoyed by all. One day I decided after a hard day of yard work, to take a nap, Sox, being the kind of dog she was, decided to join me. I lay down in bed and Sox lay down beside the bed. When I woke a couple of hours later I wandered into the living room and called Sox to follow me. She tried to get up, but her rear end was useless. We took her to the vets the next day and it turned out that she had ruptured a disc, she was paralyzed from the waist down. The vet recommended that we put her to sleep, but we turned down that offer. She was fine, so long as I could get a wheel chair made for her we would be fine. So I went to the webside for doggy wheelchairs and took her measurements. In the meantime I would take her outside to sit in the sun for the morning so that she knew she wasn't confined to the indoors. As it was Sox decided in in wisdom that she didn't want to live like that and one day I came home from work and found her on her blanket dead. I was devastated, and if only I had known it then, so was Buddy. I buried Sox that day, down in the forest where she so loved to sit. Buddy grieved, and grieved greatly, his best friend was gone and he was bereft. Within short order of her death Buddy began to slow down, he wasn't the dog he had been, and within 6 months he lay down one day and decided that he was going to die, and die he did. He was buried next to Sox, in their favorite part of the forest where now hosta and fern grow on their graves. Fast forward. After Sox died, in an attempt to assuage my grief my husband bought me a boxer puppy, she was red with a black mask and in honor of a boxer that raised me I named her Judy. I happened upon a puppy at the Salvation Army one day, a lab/someting cross who I named Sal(Salvation Army for short) Judy and Sal were best buds, there was no firmer friendship. Then one day Sal got out of the yard and was hit by a car, he is buried with Sox and Buddy down in the forest. Judy was bereft, her best friend was gone. So we decided that a new friend for Judy was in order so we got Cueball, a pure white boxer male. As you can imagine on being introduced to the puppy Judy was beside herself with glee, a new pal! As it turns out Cueball grew, and grew, and grew and grew. BUT (I am finally getting to the point of the story). This evening I was outside playing "squeaky thingy" with Cueball, who LOVES to chase his squeaky toys, and while I was doing that Judy was interfering, tormenting him, stealing the squeaky thingy.....I looked, as I look always, and I can see out there Sox and Buddy...., I am almost certain that Sox and Buddy sat up there in heaven and when the time was right, came down and inhabited the bodies of Judy and Cueball.... I have my babies home, they just look a little different that is all.